Kieran laughed. “Oh, I doubt that, but you’ll hear from her all the same.” He gathered the reins. “Are you sure about this, Butler?”
“As sure as I can be.”
“Good night to you, then.”
“Good night, Kieran.”
Butler waited until Kieran was well down the lane before creating a ball of witchlight. Only two words on the paper: Compost bin?
Simple words, simple question. But the shape and thickness of the letters gave him a fair idea of the level of annoyance Saetien was aiming at him. She was fighting mad, and that was just fine with him.
Smiling, Butler wheeled the barrow to the spot that used to hold the compost bins.
SIXTY
When Saetien tried to convince Shelby to go to puppy school without her, his response was to grab her shirt and hide under the bed. It took promising that he could go to Butler’s cottage and help her with the digging for her to manage to retrieve the puppy and a shirt that had dust balls clinging to it. She handed the dusty shirt to Anya, who was mortified to see that the new maid wasn’t taking her duties seriously. Anya suggested that Saetien be on her way before the housekeeper and Eileen were informed of this lapse, because Things Would Be Said.
Knowing how the housekeeper at SaDiablo Hall would react to such a lapse, Saetien took the hint, dressed in a hurry, gulped down her breakfast, and was out the door—which was where a speedy departure ended because Ryder and Kildare caught up to her. She had Eileen’s basket of gardening tools, didn’t she? And the cold box of food for her and the Scelties who would accompany her? And a couple of jugs of water? And the dishes and bowls girl and dogs required? And a hat in case she was going to be working in the sun?
She pointed out that she could use Craft to vanish all those things and call them back in when she reached the cottage.
Sure she could, but what about Shelby? Was she going to carry the pup all that way?
Somehow she ended up taking a small cart that Kildare and Ryder had loaded with all the things she’d need that day. She and two Scelties sat on the driving seat. Not that she was driving. The Warlord hitched to the cart made that very clear. He would take care of the cart and getting her to the cottage. She just had to make sure she and the Scelties didn’t do anything foolish and fall out of the cart.
Actually, making sure no one fell out of the cart was the job of the adult Sceltie who was standing escort since Shelby was too young for that task. Which made her the lone sheep being watched.
Five Warlords being helpful. Different species, sure, but still it had been five against one. She’d never stood a chance of stomping off this morning like she’d done yesterday. The Warlords were aware now and looking ahead, as males who were Blood tended to do.
No point grumbling about it. She’d save her grumbles for the damn weeds.
The wheelbarrow was where she’d left it, but it was empty.
At least the man had done that much. But . . .
Saetien unpacked the cart, thanked the Warlord, and promised to let him know when she was ready to go home. She filled a bowl with water for the Scelties, put on her hat and gloves, and, temper once again sizzling, she went after the weeds as if they were blighting her life instead of a flower bed.
Kieran looked at the letter in the basket where the family left mail that had to be delivered beyond the village. The letter from Eileen to Brenda was expected. His report to Prince Sadi? Also expected. But the letter from Saetien to her father? After spending her day in Butler’s garden, attacking weeds while trying to deal with her reaction to that brutal lesson? She must have written it before she’d fallen asleep last evening, and dropped it in the basket on her way out the door this morning.
He took all the mail heading for SaDiablo Hall over to Angelline House and requested that one of the staff there deliver the letters personally.
Was there anything urgent? Prince Sadi wouldn’t appreciate a delay in receiving news about his daughter.
Kieran assured them that there was nothing urgent in any of the letters.
Saetien might not agree with that, but whatever she’d said to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, he and Butler would deal with it—and pay the price.
Caitie and Stormchaser showed up an hour into Saetien’s battle with the weeds. They entered the yard and Caitie closed the gate. Foal and Scelties immediately began a game of chase that had them circling the cottage.
“I don’t think they can get into any trouble,” Saetien said as the kindred rounded a corner.
Caitie nodded. “I’ll help you.” She selected a tool from Eileen’s basket, knelt, and started weeding. A minute later, she pointed to the clump of plants Saetien was swearing at. “That’s not a weed. It will claim whatever ground it can, but it’s not a weed. Mother keeps it contained in large pots. The flowers are pretty.”
“I don’t have any pots.” Saetien sat back on her heels. She was going to have to find a spade or figure out how to use Craft to dig that clump of plants out of the ground. Working around that patch, she listened to Caitie sing a Scelt folk song. She knew the next song—not the lyrics but the chorus—and joined in until a man rode up to the fence.
“Now, that’s a pretty sight to warm a heart,” he said.
Saetien tensed, wary of a stranger who sounded ready to take liberties, but Caitie gave the man a big smile.
“Father,” Caitie said, “we need some pots. Big ones like Mother has in her garden.”
“Do you, now?” he replied with a smile. “And how many will you be needing?”
Caitie looked at Saetien, who said, “Three?”
“I can fetch those for you. And you’ll be needing some good soil to go in them?”
She hadn’t thought that far ahead since she hadn’t expected to get the pots. “Yes, sir, we will.”
“Easy enough to do. You have anything to eat for the midday meal?”
“Yes, sir. Lady Eileen gave me plenty.”
“That’s fine, then. I’ll be back in a bit.” He rode away.
Saetien looked at Caitie, who gave her a sweet smile and began to sing and weed again.
It was close to midday when the foals came trotting up the lane with a Sceltie witch for escort. None of the foals knew—yet—how to work a latch on a gate, so they lined up on the other side of the fence to watch their human friends digging in the dirt. Saetien took a break to pet and praise and to drop kisses on muzzles, keeping the foals close to the cottage until she spotted Ryder and a stallion coming up the lane to retrieve the youngsters.
“Saetien and Caitie have to work now,” Ryder said. “They will come to the stables in a little while to play with you.”
The look in his eyes warned that there would be consequences if she made a liar out of him.
“We’ll be down in a little while,” she agreed.
Ryder gathered up the foals, including Stormchaser, and he and the Sceltie witch escorted the little herd back to the family stables. After being nipped for ignoring previous reminders about food, Saetien fed the Scelties and shared her own food with Caitie.
Caitie’s father returned with three large pots. A couple of men drove up with a wagon filled with soil. They filled the pots, then deposited half the wagonload of soil next to the shed.
Not to worry, they all told her. They would send Butler the bill.
Hell’s fire.
Caitie’s father called in a spade and obligingly dug out the clumps of plants that would go into two of the pots and helped the girls with the planting by fetching a bucket of water from somewhere.